Beginnings
by Greentigerr
Summary: How Storm Shadow's parents met. Warning: Blood. Lots of it. And guts, and bone fragments. What did you expect - this is a ninja courtship story. Characters borrowed from Karama9.
1. Unexpected Proposal

Author's Note: Fearless Master (aka Tomisaburo Arashikage/Insane Master) and Ayame are Storm Shadow's parents, used here with permission from Karama9. They are her characters, so check out her stories for more on them. Thanks to Kusari-Gama 61602 for editing, read her stories too!

* * *

The man known as the Fearless Master of the Arashikage crouched on a support beam above the ceiling and admired the convenience of ventilation grates. For all the rattles, echoes, and whoosh of the vents, they were perfect for reconnaissance. He was watching a busy hallway, listening to the shuffling footsteps of bored salary workers and the electronic whirl of a security camera. Even had he not been born into a ninja clan, he was sure he'd have found his way into the business somehow. What a pity, he thought to himself as he watched a yawning worker. Offices drained his already-limited reserves of sanity like nothing else.

He lifted himself from the vent and slithered along another beam. Two heartbeats, loud and slow, marked the guards outside the door he was aiming for. He was about to duck past the structural beam above the door when light footsteps danced down the hallway. He swung down to peek out and watch a particularly alluring secretary approach the guards.

They obligingly moved to either side as she ran a hand through her hair. She bowed her head politely, with a demure smile. She was almost directly beneath him now. As much as he appreciated the view, he was itching to get in, snatch the file, and be gone. Instead of opening the door, however, she was inspecting a hairpin. The folder slipped from her arms. Before it fluttered once, her hands shot out toward the guards' necks. He heard the gentle 'flump' of paper against the floor as both guards pitched forward into her arms. She lowered the hulking bodies to the floor, retrieved the two bloody pins, tucked them into a pocket, and picked up the folder.

Tomisaburo withdrew from the vent to watch her enter the room. He'd confront her if she went for the files he needed, but he wasn't about to provoke a clan conflict without reason. Inside, the two remaining guards by the door shifted their weight, unaware.

The 'secretary' (which clan, he wondered?) was leaning rather unnecessarily low over the boss's desk, one arm draped over his shoulders. From the middle-aged man's heart rate, he clearly didn't mind the impropriety one bit. And then there was the sound of steel on yielding skin and muscle, and blood splattered across the paper stacked high on the desk.

He held back a frustrated groan; if the files were sitting on that desk, well, he'd learned the hard way that bloodstains didn't come out of paper. Gurgling, the boss clutched at a clean slice through his throat and slumped forward. Across the room, both guards were suffering from a similar affliction, struggling with the sudden introduction of expertly-thrown shuriken to their windpipes. Before they could so much as wheeze, the kunoichi was out from behind the desk and heading toward them. Bone cracked, and Tomisaburo nearly fell through the ceiling. She'd snapped the guard's neck with a kick that was pure poetry. In a pencil skirt.

The second guard fell when a deceptively dainty hand met his rib cage and kept on going. Was that four, or five ribs he'd heard crack? The woman bent over the bodies, retrieving her shuriken. Six pointed, his personal favorite. In a split second, he'd made his decision; the Fearless Master levered up a ceiling tile and dropped to the floor behind her.

The first syllable of "Arashikage" hadn't left his mouth when he saw the flash of steel and dodged, purely out of reflex but a bit too slow. The knife sank into his shoulder, just below the collarbone. He ignored it - it wasn't a fatal stab.

"I'm going to marry you," he proclaimed, grinning widely.

Her hand paused, and he took a moment to appreciate the annoyed and highly suspicious face in front of him before glancing at the design on the hilt of the knife.

"Ah, Mizu clan." He smiled and bared his tattoo. "Arashikage. Do you normally greet people knife-first, or have I caught you on a good day?"

Her fingers carefully uncurled from the knife's grip; it stayed put. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm just after some files." He nodded toward the cabinets lining one wall. "No conflict of missions. You really should consider my offer. I could use someone as... professional as you." He grinned.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't reposition that knife a few inches lower."

He made an offended noise. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

"An idiot." She crossed her arms and stuck one hip out like a very combat-ready model. "If you want to see me again, you'd better have that knife cleaned and re-sharpened properly. It's one of my favorites."

Before he could answer, she turned on one impractically high heel and stalked calmly out the door, file folder in hand.

When he heard the ding of the elevator down the hall, he finally remembered to breathe. A warm rivulet of blood rolled down his chest and soaked into his dark shirt. Best to leave the knife in. As he shifted his shoulder ever so slightly, he felt the edge meet bone. The accompanying agony barely served to dampen his wide grin. She was right, the knife would need some care.

Heavy footsteps in the hall brought his mind back to the mission. Just outside the door, he heard at least a dozen men, both guards and unlucky office onlookers in various states of horror and shock.

Two locked file cabinets were hastily ransacked, with no success, by the time the witnesses had built up the courage to try the door. Just a little more time... his contact had promised the files would be easy to find, no safecracking necessary. And had he said something about a green cabinet? Tomisaburo tossed another beige drawer across the room, ignoring the loud crash. The only man who would bother to check for the missing file was now staining a perfectly good hardwood desk.

A hand on the door handle. He needed to leave, NOW. One leap took him to the top of the cabinets, the next to a pipe on the ceiling, where he found himself one arm short of the amount needed to reach the safety of the vent. The door clicked.

And clicked again. His future wife had locked it. He knew there was a reason he'd chosen her. Silently thanking the woman, he dropped back down onto the cabinets. A fine layer of dust made his footsteps a bit too apparent, but that couldn't be helped now. Just before he resumed his search, a plain Manila folder caught his eye. It looked to have been tossed onto the top of the cabinet recently. He snatched it up. Jackpot.

The men outside the door were shouting now, yelling something about the key that, with any luck, was in the pocket of a long-gone secretary. Holding the file between his teeth, he launched himself up to the ceiling with a bit more care than before and managed to worm his way back into the vent.

Just as the ceiling tile clicked back into place, the door creaked open and the first of the investigators gasped at the gory sight within.


	2. A Clan Meeting

Author's Note: Shiro the healer is Kusari-Gama 61602's character and she wrote most of the the scenes with him. The Mizu clan and its masters belong to Karama9, as well as Fearless Master and Ayame. I just like writing about them.

* * *

Shiro mumbled beneath his breath as he counted the _Udo_ roots, making sure to carefully align them so that they wouldn't tangle. Once finished, he wrapped the cloth around them and held them out to another healer apprentice.

"Hello, Shiro," a cold voice whispered right behind him, and he almost dropped the roots. One would think that months of being in the Arashikage infirmary would numb an apprentice to the ninjas who enjoyed stopping by and scaring them. But no. The most Shiro had managed to get was not screaming out in fear whenever he felt a presence behind him.

The apprentice next to him, though, was a newcomer, and was _not_ accustomed to being sneaked up on, especially by one of the clan masters. The boy screeched and jumped a few feet into the air, stammering once he got back on his feet and began bowing repeatedly, spewing apologies.

Shiro took a deep breath, put on a thin smile, and turned slowly. "Afternoon, Fearless Master. I was wondering when you'd return from your mission."

"Really? How nice of you." The grinning man stroked his head as if he was a puppy before jumping down from the countertop. "So, guess what happened to me on my mission?"

"You got stabbed?" Shiro asked, pointedly looking at the blotch of red on the master's shoulder.

"By the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." The fool was _still_ grinning.

"Uh huh. She sure sounds friendly." The apprentice advanced towards the older man, gently pushing him backwards. "Why don't you take a seat and tell me about her?" He looked back at the still-shaking boy and gave him a pointed glare. Numbly, he nodded and took off.

Tomisaburo hoisted himself onto the examination table with little difficulty. "So, I was in the rafters scanning the area when I saw her walk towards..."

Shiro easily tuned him out as he began cutting his shirt into pieces. It was cheaper to replace it than to wash it repeatedly to get all the blood out. Frowning, he examined the cut as his ears hummed with the Fearless Master's voice.

"This looks a bit fresh," he observed as he snapped on latex gloves. "When did you get this wound?"

"... It was so beautiful! The way she- huh?" Tomisaburo glanced at his shoulder. "Oh, she left the knife in and I removed it once I got back."

"You idiot," Shiro muttered, prompting shocked looks from nearby newcomers. "You're not supposed to touch anything embedded in you."

"It didn't hit anything important!"

"Says you." The apprentice healer began cleaning the wound, then glanced up at his patient. "If it's so unimportant, I suppose I could just leave your arm dangling uselessly there."

Tomisaburo struggled not to grimace for a minute, and Shiro finally sighed. "How long was the knife?"

"About yay long. Definitely past my collar-bone. It had a really fine grind on the edge, which is going to be a bitch to fix." He sighed dreamily, as if he no longer had an open wound being prodded. "But _so_ worth it."

Shiro just nodded along. At least the man was sitting still.

* * *

_~two weeks later~_

Ayame leaned against the darkened window of the SUV as it tried its best to brain her. How did the Arashikage keep their vehicles so shiny and black and _intact_ on such a wicked road? When they'd transferred at the bottom of the mountain to the provided car, the road had looked just wide enough for a rather sure-footed horse. As far as she could tell, it had only gotten narrower. At times, one shoulder or the other dropped off in a sheer cliff as the path wound its way up the steep incline. Even in her formal wear, she was sure she could have made better time on foot. Not that she wanted to try.

From the seat next to her, the Green Master shot her a disapproving glare. He was apparently trying to show off his ability to sit ramrod straight as the car jostled over boulders that had to be larger than the wheels.

Her forehead had almost certainly developed a bruise by the time the road leveled out and the car abruptly stopped. She rubbed her eyes to recover from the severe rattling, caught an elbow in her ribs from her clan master for her lack of alertness, and adjusted several of her hidden daggers. A peppy-looking Arashikage apprentice opened the door, and she caught herself glaring at him before remembering to paste a grateful smile on her face. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him gulp as she slid out of the car.

At this altitude, the wind was nippy and the pines at the edge of the cliff that seemed to serve as a driveway were sparse and contorted. Taking shelter behind the lip of rock that formed the edge of the small plateau, grander, centuries-tall pines watched over the gates. Just in front of the parked cars, a fifteen-foot wall marked the edge of the compound. The curved, tiled roofs rising like the peaks behind them over the compound and the red gate identified it as a Shinto shrine, but the assortment of bolts on the reinforced sliding steel doors hinted otherwise.

"Welcome, Mizu-sama." A rather portly young man stood by the open doors in a deep bow. "My brother is waiting for you in the house."

The Green Master returned the bow, and Ayame and the other five ninja in his entourage followed suit.

"May our negotiations not outlast the tea," he murmured.

The tea room was divided lengthwise by a long, low table. On the far side, a stout, bald man in dark robes stood stiffly with the teapot. On either side, pairs of attendants watched with interest as the other clan entered and took their places. Before long, the man at the gate followed them inside and took a seat across from the ninja at the Green Master's left. The attendants bowed and departed, and the bald man, who she assumed must be the Hard Master, began to pour the tea.

Ayame suffered in silence through the extended niceties of the tea ceremony. They were ninja, badass warriors of the night, for crying out loud. Who had decided they should sit around complimenting each other's teacups? And between two friendly clans, there wasn't so much as a hint of tension. Had she thought she had any chance of getting away with it, she would have stirred up a bit of intrigue herself with a misplaced eyebrow or insulting tap of the finger.

At long last, the Hard Master took his seat opposite the Green Master, and Ayame sipped her tea calmly as the three masters settled into a polite discussion. The seat across from her remained empty, though the place was set.

Something thumped quietly outside the door, and then a man came hurtling through the tea room, miraculously avoiding spilling anything as he nearly bounced off the wall. Ayame had only half-drawn her dagger when he came to a stop neatly in the empty space, hair windblown and standing up straight, and grinned directly at her. She waited a beat for someone to scold the all-too-familiar ninja, but only a soft sigh came from the Hard Master's lips.

"I ask that you please forgive our brother. The Fearless Master is a busy man." The Soft Master calmly passed the teapot to the new arrival.

Ayame didn't hear the words he muttered that made everyone shift uncomfortably. All she could do was stare into the unmistakable, crazed eyes that were fixed on her as cold, numb realization settled in her.

She'd stabbed an Arashikage Clan Master. She'd stabbed the Fearless Master. And then he'd proposed to her. And if that cocky grin meant anything, he hadn't forgotten about it.

She spent the rest of the meeting taut as a bowstring, carefully avoiding glancing across the table. Not choking on her tea was taking a good bit of her concentration already, as was ignoring the Fearless Master's interruptions. By the end, she'd only caught every fifth word or so, but the conclusion seemed agreeable.

Once the teacups had been cleared, the Hard Master led the way to a packed-dirt circle in the large central yard of the compound. To one side a set of straw dummies had been pushed out of the way. A mist-soaked grassy field led up a shallow slope toward an obstacle course, and the expanse between the field and the main buildings was paved with cobble worn smooth by generations of students' feet (and presumably bruised knees and backs.)

"Are you up for a little friendly competition?" The Hard Master passed his sword to his more stable brother and looked to the Green Master, who answered with a smile. He shed his formal traveling coat and took a ready stance in the center of the ring.

Moments after the pair had come up from their bow, the Hard Master sent his opponent crashing to the ground. In the next second, the Green Master hurled the attacker to one side and leapt to his feet lightly. The entire match was a series of abrupt clashes, like the battling of mountain goat rams.

After a few minutes, the Soft Master strolled onto the pitch between the two fighters. "Won't I get a turn?" he inquired lightly.

The Hard Master straightened up, nodding. Another bow signaled the end of the first match, and the Soft Master took his place.

The two Arashikage brothers' fighting styles were as different as their names suggested. The attacks that had been stopping the Hard Master short simply flew past the Soft Master as he wove and sidestepped. The Green Master had just begun to adapt when the Soft Master caught his arm, easily using his own momentum against him. The Mizu Clan representative landed on his back again, but was back on his feet in seconds. Ayame was surprised at the quickness of the rotund Arashikage brother, but she'd known enough to expect as much from a clan master.

She glanced over at the Fearless Master. To her relief, he was no longer staring at her, but tapping his foot impatiently. As soon as the bout was over, he stepped into the ring.

"Let's give our guest a break. He's brought the best of his clan, has he not?" A wicked smile twisted the youngest Arashikage brother's lips as he surveyed the six Mizu ninja.

The Green Master nodded as he took his place among them. He was still breathing heavily, but appeared unharmed.

"I'm feeling good. How about I take on all of you?" He crossed his arms, smile spreading into a wide, mocking grin. The other masters didn't seem to be taking their brother seriously. The Soft Master was actually snickering quietly, but making a decent attempt to hide it.

"It would hurt my conscience to agree to such an unfair proposition." The Green Master frowned slightly. "Simply because they do not hold the title of Clan Master does not mean they are not masters of their art. Ayame, will you answer his challenge?"

She froze for a moment, dread twisting her stomach. This wasn't going to end well. But she bowed her head to her clan master. Now wasn't the time to back down.

"Kick his ass," the Green Master whispered to her, giving her a tiny push forward.

She took a deep breath and quickly slipped out of her silky, formal outer layer. It wouldn't have restricted her in a fight, but she had a feeling there was going to be a lot of dirt flying.

The Fearless Master took the chance to remove a layer as well. That layer happened to be his shirt, leaving him bare-chested except for a white bandage just below his left collarbone. She passed a hand over her face, hoping she wasn't blushing at the sight, and stepped into the ring.

Her opponent's grin hadn't faded in the slightest. He bowed, then stepped up to her, giving no regard to her personal space.

"Yes, kick my ass," he whispered before stepping back.

Her eyes narrowed. She bowed stiffly and took a ready stance, waiting for him to do the same. But he just stood there casually, still tapping his foot.

"Go ahead," he challenged, running a hand through his disheveled hair and somehow making it even more messy.

She didn't hesitate in sending a foot flying at his face, hoping he'd be too slow to dodge. Her heel missed his nose by an inch as he simply leaned back and laughed.

Rage was already pounding in her ears. She couldn't stand this overconfident bastard. Wiping the grin off his face became a top priority.

Before her foot even touched the ground again, she'd begun a fierce flurry of punches, forcing him to block. She pressed forward, hoping to make him retreat. Instead, he brought a knee up to her ribs, barely grazing her side. She hooked his other ankle and sent a fist up just below his ribs, cutting his chuckle short with a strangled cough. But he seemed to take no pause from that, and freed his foot to land a solid kick on her hip. She barely kept her balance, wormed her arm out of his grasping hand, and drove an elbow into the front of his shoulder. The sharp intake of breath told her she'd hit her target, the not-yet-healed stab wound.

"Fighting dirty. I like that," he hissed, grabbing a handful of her shirt. Before he could pull, she drove her elbow in again, just to one side, hitting a nerve that forced him to let go.

She ducked to the side before he could pull anything else, aimed several rib-cracking jabs at his side. He pulled back again and for a moment they faced each other silently.

"You missed my ass."

Ayame launched herself at him. One leg hooked his to send him tumbling to the ground, and her arm wrapped around his throat. Before they reached the ground, he twisted, throwing her down. She tried to roll free, but his hand closed around her forearm and twisted it up against her back. Her shoulder protested, but it was a basic technique. If she could shift slightly, she'd be able to roll free. The dirt of the arena ground against her cheek as she got one knee beneath her.

The Fearless Master pulled her arm tighter. "Yield," he insisted, pressing her down with a knee to her back.

"No." She shoved him to one side and planted her heel onto a pressure point on his leg, but his hand remained tight on her arm. As he yanked her down again, she felt her shoulder pop.

Pain exploded in her shoulder, and she couldn't hold back a harsh gasp as she landed on top of him and quickly rolled off, hugging her arm to herself. She took several deep breaths as she did a mental examination of herself. As painful as the injury was, she doubted it needed much medical attention.

She glared at the Fearless Master angrily as her shoulder throbbed.

Now she _really_ hated him.


End file.
